


The Man with No Color in His Eyes

by closetcellist



Category: Battle for London in the Air (Roleplay)
Genre: Gen, fae!au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:27:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26838952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/closetcellist/pseuds/closetcellist
Summary: Andrew knows the danger of asking questions, but sometimes curiosity wins over warnings.
Relationships: Cordelia French/Lord Thaddeus Beck, Irving Suttler/Lord Thaddeus Beck
Kudos: 3





	The Man with No Color in His Eyes

Liam hadn’t warned him away from Irving, exactly, but for someone who was pulled into so much of what Liam considered dangerous, it seemed especially strange that his brother hadn’t been clear about the man, as ambiguity wasn’t normally in his vocabulary.

He couldn’t be fae--Liam wouldn’t work with a full-blooded member of the Fair Folk, regardless of how pleasant and helpful they purported to be (and they could be  _ so _ convincing). But with his pale, strikingly colorless eyes and pallid skin--not bloodless, nor fair, as Andrew and Liam were fair, but faded somehow--he must have been at least fae-touched, and even those unfortunates his brother tended to stay away from when they couldn’t be pulled back fully to the land of Man.

And Andrew would likely have left the mystery be, as vaguely irritating as it might have been, chalked it up to Liam being Liam and left well enough alone. If it hadn’t been for Cordelia. Cordelia, fae-touched and fae-shaped and beautiful as the sky. Cordelia, perhaps the first important secret he’d ever kept from his brother, who was whip-smart and fire-sharp and laughed like a snapping branch. Cordelia, who had captured his heart and if he ever wondered if part of it was glamour or charm, he found he didn’t care at all.

Cordelia, who had heard him mention the man with colorless eyes and stiffened in shocked recognition.

And so it came out that Thaddeus Beck, the man or the fae or half-fae or changeling, whatever he might have been, who had so subtly and strikingly shaped Cordelia, was the same one who had stolen Irving’s eyes. The story from Cordelia’s side was one of a lover’s betrayal, though once she’d seen the other man she’d confessed her anger at him had disappeared and focused solely on Thaddeus Beck, where it so rightfully belonged. But in the chaos of broken promises and broken vows and broken hearts, Irving had disappeared and after she’d rebuilt her life, she hadn’t given the other man much thought at all save the occasional stray and unchased wonder of what had happened to him.

Now the question of the drawn-pale man who Liam seemed so keen to push into danger was one Andrew could no longer leave unanswered. Or if not answered, then at least asked.

Because he did suspect that Liam did not want him to speak with Irving, Andrew approached him (guiltily) alone, introduced himself and asked him if he’d like to get a beer. When Irving politely and quietly refused, he insisted.

“Look, I know my brother, and I know he’s working you too hard, whatever he’d got you doin’,” Andrew said, putting an arm around Irving and steering him toward the door. “Besides, you look like you need a good meal or five. I’m meetin’ a friend at the pub anyway tonight, so you’d only be doin’ me a favor, comin’ along.”

And Irving seemed powerless to refuse a request like that, as Andrew suspected he might be.

He seemed somehow to stand out more in the crowded bar, but Cordelia tended to do that too, and when the two of them caught sight of each other, Andrew was more than half convinced that Irving would bolt. But after the moment of fight or flight fled, his shoulders just caved a little and he approached the table resigned.

“Hello, Cordelia,” he said quietly.

“Hello, Irving,” she said in return. When she spoke calmly and pleasantly, Irving relaxed, a touch. “It’s been a long time.”   
  
Irving glanced between her and Andrew, clearly putting some pieces together, but wondering where he might fit in any of it. The ever-present sense of sadness settled heavier on the man. “You look well.”   
  
“You don’t,” Cordelia said, bluntly, but not unkindly. “You look at least three real meals behind, not to mention sleep.”   
  
Almost on cue, the waitress at the bar brought over beer for all of them, along with three baskets of fish and chips, that Cordelia had ordered ahead.

“Thank you,” Irving said. “But I’m afraid it won’t help.”   
  
Cordelia grimaced like she knew what that meant, but Andrew shook his head. “That’s nonsense. A good hot meal always helps, no matter what the problem is.”   
  
“That’s very kind,” Irving said quietly, and forced himself to eat some fries, and forced himself to smile, gratefully, but he wasn’t good at lying.

“What’s wrong?” Andrew asked, with a frown, at the same time that Cordelia said, “It’s not as good, is it.”

“Nothing is,” Irving admitted.

“All right,” Andrew said, firmly. He took a long drink of his beer and set it down as firmly as his words. “What are you talking about? Both of you, actually. I’m not supposed to ask, I’m sure. And Liam would tell me even talkin’ is gettin’ involved and the absolute first rule is not to get involved. But what happened? What happened to your eyes? What’s wrong with the food?”

“How much did he take from you?” Cordelia asked.

“Oh, everything,” Irving said, apparently more inclined to answer Cordelia first. “Or almost. I think. It’s a little difficult to...describe. And remember, if I’m honest."

“You gave your name?” Andrew asked, because he knew about that, and it seemed an easier place to start from than ‘if you lost everything, how are you still in the world of man?’

“It was the first thing I ever gave,” Irving admitted, a little embarrassed. “I didn’t...I didn’t know what he was. I didn’t even know all of this was real, then.”

“Too many people don’t,” Andrew said, with a resigned huff. “It’s hard to convince them when they haven’t seen it.”

“Your eyes?” Cordelia asked. “What did he give you for that?  _ Why _ did you give them?”   
  
“He liked their color,” Irving said, with a helpless shrug. “I’d already told him he could have anything he wanted. It made him so happy to hear. I think he gave me an hour for my eyes. Or maybe a poem. But he gave those away so often. He liked to share them.”   
  
“What color were they?” Andrew asked. He couldn’t not.

“I don’t remember,” Irving said, his expression settled into one of resigned and mild embarrassment now, a little ashamed. “I think they must have been blue. Or green? But no...he liked blue better than green, I think. So they must have been blue.”

“You don’t remember?” Andrew asked, sounding more horrified than he meant, but something about not remembering a part of yourself that you lost struck him through as such a terrible thing, to lose and not even know you’d lost…

“It’s all a bit difficult…” Irving said again, before suddenly turning to Cordelia with more focus and intent than Andrew had ever seen him exhibit. “I’m glad, that I could meet you again. Or properly, I suppose. I want to...I think I need to thank you.”

“Thank me?” Cordelia asked, as surprised as Andrew. “For what?”

“If he didn’t love you, I think I would be dead. I certainly wouldn’t be here,” Irving said. “By the end of it...I gave him so much that I...I’m not sure I could have refused him anything. Or if I would have wanted to. If I  _ could _ have wanted to. If I was...if I was myself enough to feel anything...you have to understand, or perhaps you don’t, because you must have been smarter than I was...It was like a dream, by the end. I don’t know what I felt except that it was important that he was happy. That things were good when he was happy, better than anything. More important than anything else, than breathing, than the sun. Everything was his, or near enough. But it must not have been everything, because he tried to offer me love. There was something final I had to give him, and he must have wanted it very badly. And I offered it, whatever it was. Only...well...he loved  _ you _ .”

Cordelia gasped quietly, something in that confession bringing back into sharp focus everything about that time, about Thaddeus Beck and the brightness he could bring. That sometimes, he was telling the truth. And it was so sharp, so sharp it cut her, and unmeaning to, she felt her eyes begin to tear up.

Perhaps Irving didn’t notice, or perhaps he simply had to continue, driven on by something beyond them, because he kept going. “He loved you, truly. So he couldn’t love me, fully. And they can’t...they can’t make false deals, but he tried. Or maybe he didn’t understand his own feelings...but he loved you and that...freed me. Or what was left of me. And it was enough to...to be here. To be myself, and have...have my own thoughts and feelings. Most of them. Most of them and that’s better than none of them. So thank you. I’m sorry, but thank you, for making him love you.”

Cordelia tried to speak, but what came out was a single, startled sob, and she covered her mouth, eyes wide and streaming, embarrassed by herself. And Andrew felt even his own throat close and thick, seeing strong-as-an-oak Cordelia cry, the truth of the fae’s ravenous destructive desires in front of him, he had to clear his throat before he could speak, though he felt a little foolish when he did. “But what--what does that have to do with the food?”

Irving gave him a lopsided smile. “It doesn’t taste like anything,” he said, apologetically, as though Andrew was the one who had made it and not that it had come frozen and deep-fried from the bar. “Nothing really tastes like anything. Which makes the textures...strange. I mostly eat those Soylent drinks and smoothies. It doesn’t bother me nearly so much when it’s liquid.”

Andrew contemplated a world without the joy of food and shuddered. “That’s awful,’ He murmured.

“How long did it take you?” Cordelia asked, having taken the moment to calm herself, dry her eyes. “After he...left. How long did it take you to get back to yourself? And what are you doing now?”   
  
“Oh I...I took a few years, I think,” Irving said. “Like I said, it’s all...difficult. But I managed to explain it as a medical emergency. I think it must have been believable. I did finish college. And med school. But I had trouble keeping a job after my residency. I didn’t have...the appropriate bedside manner. People didn’t feel comfortable with me. I work at an addiction recovery clinic, now. I find I can...relate well to them, and they appreciate that.” He looked away then, like he was seeing something else, or someone else, or another life.

Cordelia nodded slowly. “That...makes a lot of sense,” she said quietly. “I suppose.”

“Because you’re addicted to...the fae?” Andrew asked, frowning. “What do you do for Liam then?”   
  
Irving laughed, without much humor. “No it’s...not quite that. When Thaddeus broke his promise, or trade, or whatever it was, I was...free from him, but I didn’t get everything back--you can't get back what was fairly traded, even if you didn't know what you were doing. One of the things he took with him was illusions. I can...see things for what they are now. All things. Other fae, their charms don’t affect me, and I can see through their glamours. I can usually tell when someone is lying too, fae or not. But you never really know how much illusion people make for themselves. The stories they tell in their heads and about other people. It’s...colder, now. Cleaner, in a way but...harder. Sharper. You miss the softness of little lies. Or I do. They smooth out the edges of life so it doesn’t cut you.”   
  
“But you don’t want to go back,” Cordelia said, and it was half a question, half a plea.   
  
“Oh, I do,” Irving said, with startling insistence. “That’s the problem. I want it very, very badly, horribly, terribly so. It’s like--like I’ve been living in winter, alone, eating the snow and sleeping in a ragged blanket for years. And when Thaddeus returns, it will be the first day of spring again, when the sun finally hits you and warms you from your core, and every breath you take fills you with the warm smell of coming life--" He settled again, then, and continued more quietly, "But I know if I see him again I’ll die, or as good as die. I certainly won’t be enough of myself to enjoy it. So I’m careful. Liam is helping me too, in exchange for my helping him.”

“That...explains that, I suppose,” Andrew said, looking strained and uncomfortable. That was what he got for asking.

“But he didn’t take everything,” Cordelia said, staring Irving down like he was holding something back from her, something she needed. “If he did, you’d have given up.”

“Oh,” Irving said, giving himself a shake, and managing a small smile, one that wasn’t a lie. “Yes. Sometimes I...if I think about it too much, I get caught up in it. But no, you’re right. Thaddeus didn’t take everything. He couldn’t. He didn’t understand enough to ask for it. I still have Mallow.”   
  
“Mallow?” Andrew asked, lost now, utterly adrift.

“My dog,” Irving said. “Thaddeus doesn’t understand platonic love. I doubt any of the Fair Folk do, to be honest. And dogs can’t lie. Most animals can’t. They just....love you, if you take care of them. Do you want to see a picture?”   
  
And as the man with no color in his eyes pulled out his phone to scroll through a seemingly endless series of pictures of a corgi, things drifted back to the realm of normalcy, of man, out of the clutching grasp of the fae. And they could talk of things that wouldn't upset, of day jobs and movies (but not restaurants) and social media. Andrew had his questions answered, and he was satisfied enough with the lesson that he wouldn’t ask the next difficult question for at least a week.


End file.
